#acoustic #americana #busker I met a guy out here last winter, that travels around the state and the southwest, busking with his guitar and a tiny amp and some rudimentary sound loops. He was doing a gig on a party boat rooftop when I met him. Most of this story is made up, but I was inspired by his life on the road. He described himself as a traveling troubadour.

He would travel town to town, a guitar on his back never had a family, or a hometown in fact he was a modern-day troubadour, of the road he pulled into your town, with not much to unload

Refrain: Troubadour oh troubadour, he’s outside your door he's playing all your favorites, crowd calls out for more Troubadour, my troubadour, case open on the street Playing all his tunes, for coins thrown at his feet

He would play and sing through the hours of daylight till he had enough for drinks, and a meal for the night he’d pack it up tight and head down to the bar looking for a spot for an aging troubadour

He’d say, “I do it for the songs, not for the money. A man gets along, as best he can honey. I pick a good corner and I set up and I play. and when the sun goes down, I’ll be on my way” Refrain

He said “The life of a busker, is young man’s game” His voice got lower, his back would ache with pain Look a little closer, you see he walked with a hitch said, “I’m not ready to retire, not gonna cross that bridge”